Brush Stroke
by NotascrazyasI
Summary: A stroke of a brush, a caress against a page of white. This was her passion. Fem!Itay


_**Brush stroke**_

_**Yeah... don't know why this came to existence so please don't**_** _ask. Hell, I don't even know what _this _is yet! Fem!Italy and Fem!Romano. That is not the pairing!_**

A stroke of a brush, a caress against a page of white. The soothing feeling it gave her was rivaled by nothing else. It filled her with a sense of calm and silenced her for longer than a few seconds. She had a passion for painting. How a simple -yet controlled- flick of the wrist could draw a line of color that was unique, that belonged only to her. How she had all control in the universe she created. How everything was perfect.

She liked to create night scenes the most and in every one of her paintings there was always a couple. Holding hands, kissing, or just holding each other in a warm embrace. It always changed. But the one thing that didn't was that face. The man's. There was always something wrong with him, she would always end up messing up and having to throw the canvas out. That face! Nothing she tried seemed to feel right. It didn't call to her like the rest of the painting did.

This was a common complaint she shared with her sister, Lovina. But sadly, Lovi never really seemed to understand her. Her sister would always say, "It's just a face, isn't it?" But it _wasn't _just a face! It had to be the _perfect _face, just like the rest of her picture. She wasn't usually this much of a perfectionist but every stroke of the brush was carefully placed. Everything in her little world she controlled and she _liked _it that way.

That's when she met him. It was on a trip to the craft shop to find some more paints, a paler color this time. The man on her canvas should be pale, she had figured that out so far. As for him? He had gone to the craft store for permanent glue. His brother, Gilbert, had broken one of his favorite picture frames and he had come here to see if he could fix it.

They went down the same isle. She was always pretty clumsy and bumped into the tall blonde. She twisted her head around to look at the man's face when she apologized. Wait. That's it! That was the prefect face! Strong jaw, washed out blue eyes, slicked back blonde hair. This was the man in her painting! She was at a loss for words, which was rather new. She had always been a bit of a flirt and a smooth talker but _shit _this was the man in her painting!

He was confused by the way she looked at him. She had just turned to look at his face when _bam!_ it's like she found something she had lost. He could not remember ever meeting her before -he would've remembered such a pretty woman, even in passing- so that couldn't be it. Perhaps she was mistaking him for someone else. He had been raised as a polite boy, so he smiled and held out his hand. "Hello," he said in the language of the country he was currently residing in. It was unnatural on his tongue, but he still used it. "My name is Ludwig."

She blinked a few times, feeling as though she was coming out of a dream. With her senses back, she took his hand and returned his smile. In her native tongue, she said, "Hello, my name is Feliciana, but I would prefer it if you would call me Feli. It's a pleasure to meet you~"

It was his turn to blink. Wow. She talked fast a fluidly. It took him a few seconds to translate before he smiled once again. "It is very nice to meet you too." He hesitated, before asking, "If I may ask, do I look like someone you know?"

She looked confused at first before she let out a tinkling laugh that lit up her face like a single slash of white lit up her paintings. "You could say that I guess." Then she continued to laugh at whatever joke she found so amusing. She calmed down after a few seconds, and granted him an explanation. "I have been looking for your face for years now."

His face -his perfect face- gained a confused look that she couldn't help but think of as cute. "My... face?" He echoed, his tone mirroring the look on his face. What on earth did she mean, looking for his face? You don't just go around looking for someone's face without even knowing that person, did you?

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes!" She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. "Well, you see I'm an artist and I've been painting for years and there's always a couple in every single one of my paintings but I just couldn't get the man's face right! And here you are! Your face is the one that I have been looking for!" Her words just bubbled from her mouth, flowing from her like the blues flowed into a river or an ocean.

He was flattered of course, but still slightly confused. "But... what make my face the one you've been looking for?"

She stared at him. The reason you don't question an artist is because they go by feelings instead of rationality. Their answers always seemed strange to others. "I don't know why. I can just feel it!" Then she tilted her head, her messy ponytail flopping to the side as she did so. "Would you mind coming to my house so I can paint you?"

He didn't know how to answer at first. He had just met this girl, yet she was already inviting him over to paint his face. Was he really worthy of her attention when she looked masterpiece ready herself? Her eyes that appeared to brighten in color when she smiled, the cute little curl that was so out of place on her head. The way her nose curved up just slightly at the end. She was so damn cute and he was just a gruff German. Why was it _his _face she chose?

He could practically hear his brother's voice yelling at him. "Go for it, bruder! Come on, think about how grateful she'll be and maybe show her gratitude in... alternative ways. Kesesese~" He felt his face grow hot at the suggestion. But no. No matter _what _happened, he didn't want to take advantage of this naive looking girl.

"O-okay. I guess that would be fine. Do you mind if I call my brother first? He was expecting me."

Dismay clouded her pretty features. "Oh, but I don't want to intrude between you and your brother!" She cried earnestly, clutching her fist tightly with anxiety. "I mean, if it was Lovi waiting for me she would be pretty upset!"

"Nein, it is fine." He said, his native language slipping out with the Italian words. "My brother can do without me for one day. Besides, he's got his two friends that he can hang out with. I'll be just a second." A smile spread across her lips, her eyes lightening just a bit. She nodded and then skipped off to go find the pale paint that she could now place an actual color off of, not a feeling.

* * *

A stroke of a brush, a caress against a page of white. This was her passion. But one can have two passions, _si?_

**Ha ha! That was fun~ Anyway, this was just a short one-shot just for Italy because I wanted ONE fic where he got something happen to him without something horrid happening first. Anyway, so this is for you, little Italian of fiction~ Still, please review! I would really appreciate it!**

**Kiwi \(*0*)/**


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